Madara at the Wedding
by coincident
Summary: Hey, hey, Shodaime. I don't like your girlfriend. Madara/Hashirama. CRACK, one-shot.


**A/N:** In my defense, chapter 500 was _asking _for it.

**Notes: **Crack. Please don't take this too seriously. (Although if you want to, I'll even add an AU note! Izuna shouldn't be alive at this point, and this ending _definitely does not happen_.)

Enjoy!

* * *

"I think she's lovely," said Izuna lazily.

For a moment, Madara was so furious his vision actually phased out. He blinked. He was either going blind or into a tailspin of betrayed rage, the latter of which could not be possible because there was _no feasible way _his baby brother could have suddenly turned clan traitor without forewarning. He decided to give Izuna the benefit of the doubt.

"I'm sorry, Izuna. I didn't hear what you said."

Despite the fact that his brain seemed to have spontaneously disintegrated, Izuna retained a modicum of common sense.

"I said I think she's…ugly, onii-san. Don't you?"

That was much better. Madara backpedalled.

"You may know that I am an eminent personage, Izuna, and as such, don't have time to contemplate women's gossip."

He paused, once again momentarily blinded by his own grandeur. This seemed to be happening a great deal lately.

"However, if I were to do so—which I do not—I might agree with that assessment. Her eyes are set approximately four millimeters too close together and the her face is disproportionately large-boned in proportion to that ostentatious headdress she wears, which might suit someone with my more delicate bone structure. The tip of her nose is pudgy, as opposed to her mouth, which is unflatteringly aquiline and gives her the appearance of a masculine –Izuna?"

His brother was staring at him. Madara was not surprised. Most people engaged in this pastime when he was not burning them to death or subjecting them to traumatic hallucinations. He was not immune himself. There was a reason for the reflective coating on the back of his battle fan.

"…that's very interesting, onii-san," said Izuna finally.

Madara was tempted to agree with Izuna agreeing with himself, but he didn't. Instead, he unsling his bandolier and situated himself on the divan in a manner which showed off his admirable legs, on the off chance anyone important happened to arbitrarily enter the room. Anyone important with red armor and long dark hair and who may or may not have assisted him in making a village and resisted his attempts to make anything _more interesting_, but it wasn't as if he'd given this a lot of thought or was especially bitter or anything; it was all merely hypothetical, as most things in Madara's world admittedly were.

It took him a few moments to realize Izuna was saying something.

"—be back later in the evening, onii-san, if you don't need me for anything?"

"Of course," said Madara magnanimously. It was important to retain an air of magnanimity when conferring small favors, so that one's subordinates would never realize that these were the only kinds one actually conferred. Izuna didn't exactly have much of a social life anyway, the poor thing. Madara felt a surge of benevolent concern for his brother and took a moment to revel in his touching empathetic nature. Every time he engaged in a rare moment of introspection, he was confronted with the pleasant truth that he was eminently suited for leadership. The entire concept of leadership had probably been modeled with his face in mind. Understandably. It was a most inspiring face. He directed an appreciative glance at his reflection in the window.

"Thanks, onii-san," said Izuna dreamily. "You're the best!"

"Why, thank you, Izuna," replied Madara in a manner which could almost be considered jovial if they weren't Uchiha and thus did not count such words among their collective vocabulary. "And where are you off to on this fine evening? Pillaging a few villages? Terrorizing young children for the sheer wholesome joy? Stringing toilet paper over the Senju orchards?"

"Not today, onii-san. The big Senju wedding's tonight, and—" Izuna froze, apparently realizing what he had just said.

Madara also froze. More dramatically, and with activated sharingan involved.

It was only because of incoherent fury obscuring his vision, he later reflected, that Izuna had been able to get out of the building before the Tsukuyomi and various S-class katons could catch hold. After he had salvaged his divan from the smoldering wreckage, he fumed silently. His younger brother had just betrayed him to go to the—the—he swallowed. He could not allow himself to think the hated word.

_Wedding—_

He let out a little shriek or sob of horror, convinced himself it was a fledgling war cry, and was promptly consoled by his own badassery. Uchiha Madara did not feel upset. Uchiha Madara did not feel _hurt _that his precious baby brother, the light of his eyes, in various manners of speaking, had run over to the Senju compound like an Inuzuka whelp to participate in The Hated Event for that—that _woman._

Madara shuddered at the very thought.

But one thing was quite clear: immediate action was needed.

Madara snatched up his battle fan. He checked his hair. Thus fortified, he allowed himself to think the name of his eternal rival.

Uzumaki Mito—_curse her very name_!—would never know what hit her.

**~X~**

Madara swept imposingly through the streets of Konoha, causing several citizens to faint and others to fall at his feet and kiss the hem of his robes. At least, he assumed that this took place. He didn't actually see any such thing occur, but the odd recurring flashes of blindness reassured him that he was probably missing it and it was certainly happening outside his range of vision.

He reached the Senju compound and promptly spotted a group of three adorable children playing in the dirt outside. Smiling in what he assumed was a kindly manner, he sashayed over to them.

The youngest among them stomped on his foot.

"_Ngng_—er, hello," he ground out, gritting his teeth.

"I know who you are," declared the brat proudly. "_You're _that Madara guy!"

Madara was incensed. "That Madara guy" was highly offensive on several counts, primarily that this implied the existence of _several _"Madara guys" running around being intimidating and in possession of generally glorious hair, and this was clearly absurd unless the Uchiha had picked up some sort of troubling eugenic tendencies over the years _which was_ _most certainly not the case_. However, the entire situation called for desperate measures, and retaliation was not an option. Madara forced a smile onto his face and knelt at the child's level.

"Look out, Hiru-kun!" screamed one of the other children, a young girl with obnoxious pigtails that Madara was offended by on sight. "I think he's one of those _creeps_!"

"_Eeeeeeew!" _chorused all three children syncophantically.

"Creeps?"

"_You know_," hissed the girl at him. "The ones that _stalk kids. _You know what I mean by _stalk? _I mean _eat them."_

"I do no such thing!" exclaimed Madara. "My name is Uchiha Madara, young one. I am also known by several epithets that you may recognize, such as Honorable Fire Beast, Lord of the Sharingan—"

"Well, _she _said we have to be careful about creeps!" said the girl snippily. Madara glared at her. He reflected that he might have been allergic to estrogen. He could already feel it eating away at his insides through sheer force of proximity.

"She?"

At this a look of maudlin admiration broke across the girl's face like a scrambled egg dropped from a great height. "Uzumaki…Mito-san…" she breathed. "She is _such _a lady."

Madara was about to make a sign to ward off evil when the first boy huffed, "I'm not scared of the Madara guy! And you need to stop listening to everything she says, Koharu!"

At this, Madara raised an eyebrow. An enemy of an enemy was a friend; this he understood rather well, being a military genius and whatnot. He smiled winsomely at the boy. He hadn't ever met anyone who could resist the power of _this_. Such a person probably didn't exist.

"What is your name, young one?"

"Quit _calling _me that! And it's Sarutobi! Sarutobi Hiruzen!" He thumped his chest proudly, a motion which nearly caused him to fall over.

"I see. Well, young Hiruzen. Are you off to the…ngngn…ugaaa…uck…"

The children stared at him strangely.

Madara swallowed. Perseverance. He was a legend. This was within his capacity.

"…the…w…_wedding_…?"

"Oh, yes!" squealed Koharu. "_I _have a pretty new kimono, and Homura-chan's my _date_!"

"I am _not_," cried the other boy indignantly, but Koharu simply continued chattering away. Madara shuddered. Estrogen.

"_I'm _not," muttered Hiruzen. "I don't _like _Mito-san."

"Why is that?" asked Madara, keeping the glee out of his voice by a margin so slim it was disconcerting.

"I'm not telling _you_!" yelled Hiruzen. "You're a creep, remember?"

Madara was starting to tire of this latest epithet. "I am not a creep, boy! Creeps wear masks and odd clothing. Have you ever seen a creep as attractive as I? Have you perchance noticed my hair, which shines lustrously in the sunlight and brings to mind lavish acts of debauchery that would melt the mind of a lesser man? _Is this the hair of a creep_, boy?"

"I guess not," admitted Hiruzen. "But what's debauch—"

"Good. Now…what if I told you that _I _do not like Mito-san either?"

Hiruzen's eyes grew round. Madara was strangely piqued by the sight.

"You don't like…her?"

"Of course not, boy. I knew upon sight that you and I would share similar tastes. After all, I am a great warrior, and you…are also a great warrior." He cringed at this atrocious lie and sent a telepathic prayer of apology to any great warriors he happened to know—a list which, fortunately, featured only himself, so it was slightly forgivable.

"Whoa," said Hiruzen, slightly awed. "So you mean, I could like…be Hokage someday?"

"Certainly," dismissed Madara, internally horrified at the very thought. All future Hokage would be Uchiha, of course. It was simply unthinkable to adorn the mountain with some substandard brat's face when there were specimens of such fine breeding available.

"Cool!" said Hiruzen. "So…are we going to…"

"We," said Madara, "are going to show Hashirama what women are _really _like."

**~X~**

Madara was hiding in a suit of armor. It was cramped, and there were several graffiti marks on the inside of it. _SNEJU RULEEEES!_ proclaimed one scrawl. Madara scoffed. Apparently, orthography was not included among the "thousand arts" practiced by the hated Senju clan. He had to bite a lock of hair to keep himself from chuckling wryly at his own rapier wit, which would probably puncture a hole through the statue through sheer sharpness if his scorching attractiveness didn't spontaneously incinerate it first. Removing a kunai from his bandolier, he squinted at the rusty underside of the armor and scratched _Hashi+Mada _next to some of the other marks. He looked fondly at this. Then he shook his head, scuffed out the carving with his palm, and amended it to _Mada+Hashi_. He aimed a covert glance up and down the hallway, and upon discerning that no one was present, quickly added a small heart.

Territory thus marked, he turned back to his surveillance and was rewarded with the sound of voices approaching.

"Just let it all out, Uchiha-kun."

"—Th-thank you, Uzumaki-san…it's just…kaa-san always liked him best— "

Madara flailed in an involuntary spasm which caused the suit of armor to jerk precariously off-balance. Accursed Izuna!

"—and she—she even p-put his d-drawing of a Susano'o on her table! She never put _my _drawing of a Susano'o on her t-table!" Choked sobs followed.

"There, there, Uchiha-kun. If you were to give _me _a drawing of a Susano'o, I would certainly put it on my table."

"Oh, thank you, Uzumaki-san—she was very beautiful, you know, our kaa-san. So much like you—"

Did the fool not possess _eyes_?

Madara clambered upwards to the helmet of the armor so that he could properly assess just how unattractive Uzumaki Mito truly was. _Such a lady. _Ha! If that were so, he would show Hashirama just how unladylike real women actually _were_. It was fortunate, because as he placed sharingan eyes to the eye-holes Izuna bowed courteously to the woman and backed away down the hall, saying something about going to fetch her groom.

Madara clawed at the eye-holes. Mito turned around.

Madara stared.

She wasn't beautiful. She didn't have the longest, most artistically arranged hair he'd ever seen. Her wedding kimono hadn't been expertly tailored by what seemed like _squirrels_, because no other creature could possess the small and nimble fingers needed for such delicate stitchery. She didn't stand with such noble posture that it indicated someone had inflated a balloon inside her spinal column. And she most _certainly _didn't have a smile that made the corners of Madara's mouth quirk up awkwardly at the edges, as if vainly trying to echo it.

_Completely _unattractive.

_The estrogen! Stop that_! Madara chided himself. _Unladylike_!

He knit his fingers together cautiously. Then he closed his eyes, opened them again to the Mangekyou, and knit his fingers together in the seals for the Tsukuyomi.

Instantly the hallway was filled with hundreds of cakes.

**~X~**

Strawberry jelly cakes. Small mooncakes filled with red bean paste and maple cream. Chocolate cakes with delicately whipped frosting. Beautiful layer cakes, tiny delicate cakes suitable for stuffing into one's mouth, cakes in every color known to man and others not yet described. The hallway was a veritable paradise of confectionery.

Uzumaki Mito looked around at the cakes, completely unruffled.

_Excellent, _thought Madara. _She is in shock. Shortly she will begin eating the cakes like a crazed creature, as all creatures plagued with estrogen are wont to do. How incredibly unflattering! Now, if only Hiruzen would bring Hashirama here—_

"—just _have _to show you, Hashi-sensei! Come on!"

"Hiruzen, what—"

Madara's heart did not leap at the sound of that well-known voice. It turned elegantly, pausing to regard the owner of the voice with calculated seductive intent.

"Mito-san! Is this—is this _genjutsu_?"

…it maybe leaped a little.

Mito glanced towards Hashirama. "Hello, Hashirama-san. Yes, it appears so."

"I..see."

They stood there in silence, while Madara thought, vindictively, that their hair colors clashed so hideously with one another that he was beginning to feel nauseous.

"Would you like some cake?" asked Hashirama awkwardly.

"No, thank you," replied Mito. "You are welcome to it if you would like. First, however, I think there's someone who would like to speak with you."

And that was when Madara realized that he couldn't move.

**~X~**

"It's just a special seal I wrote," said Mito serenely as Madara howled and struggled inside the armor like a cornered banshee. "Don't worry, Uchiha-san. It doesn't have any detrimental effects."

"_I can't move, woman_!" roared Madara. "_Unhand me_!"

He had never been so humiliated in his life. Humiliation was coursing down his clothes and his face and actually _matting his hair_, what was this devilry? He flailed wildly within the confines of Mito's unfamiliar chakra. The woman was a freak. Chakra like _chains_, and a seal more tightly woven than a basket. Hashirama, damn him, simply stood there and looked confused. Madara thought in the midst of his delirium that it was a good look for him.

"I thought you said you were a great warrior!"yelled Hiruzen, who seemed absolutely incandescent with rage. "Look at you!"

Mito cast him a surprised glance. "Hiruzen?" she asked. "You knew about this?"

The boy looked stunned. Then, to Madara's undying horror, he burst into tears.

"I d-don't want you to g-get married, Hashi-sensei!" he cried. "Don't d-do it, okay?"

Mito knelt, deftly managing what looked like sixteen different layers in her kimono, and briskly wiped the little boy's tears with her sleeve.

"What makes you say that?" she asked.

"Then he's g-going to stop teaching m-me!" wept Hiruzen. "And h-he said I could be on his t-team when I grew up!"

Hashirama blinked. Madara stared. Then, in two steps, he crossed over to Mito and Hiruzen and scooped the boy into his arms. Madara had to bite his lip against the sickening cuteness of the scene, especially juxtaposed against the ludicrous mountains of cake in the background. He thrashed aimlessly, hoping that perhaps his fingers would mash together briefly enough to dispel the Tsukuyomi.

"Don't be ridiculous, Hiruzen," said Hashirama kindly. "I assure you that willnever happen. Even if I get married."

"P-promise? Cross your hear—w-wait, _even_?"

"…I'm not getting married, Hiruzen. I don't know where you picked up that notion."

Madara made a noise that sounded something like "yrawww?" but assuredly wasn't, because nobody made noises like that and _assuredly not Uchiha Madara_. The trio seemed to suddenly notice he was in the room, which was absurd because this should have happened immediately. He was actually unfamiliar with the sensation of people turning their attention to him, because the logical order of the universe was that their attention was always on him to begin with. He narrowed his eyes.

"…Madara-san!" said Hashirama finally, deciding to break the silence by being characteristically dense. "Are you…here for the wedding?"

That _word_ again!

"This is ridiculous!" he snapped. "_Who is getting married?"_

"I am," said an amused voice from the other end of the room. "Didn't your brother tell you?"

**~X~**

"I said_ big Senju wedding_," sighed Izuna. "Onii-san, you just didn't let me finish."

Madara massaged his sore muscles and said nothing. Beside him, Hashirama was calmly inserting handfuls of chocolate frosting into his mouth. It was oddly fascinating. Some bits of frosting were caught at the edges of his mouth. Madara badly wanted to lick them. It was inane. It was unhygienic. But he wanted to nonetheless. He tore his eyes away from this sight and forcibly turned his face back to the happy couple.

Uzumaki Mito's hair, at least, didn't clash with Senju _Tobirama_'s.

The woman in question smiled at his glare. "Don't worry, Uchiha-san," she said. "Easy mistake to make."

Madara glowered. He had to, to disguise the fact that any coherent through processes were drowned out by his internal jubilee. That, and the fact that Uzumaki Mito's seal had been sort of…cool_. _He immediately wanted to unleash Amaterasu on his own soul for so much as allowing this thought to germinate in his mind.

"Oh, and by the way, Uchiha-san," said Mito lightly. "I believe you're tarring all women with a rather wide brush. I personally am not partial to sweets."

"All women like sweets," said Madara immediately.

Izuna coughed. "Onii-san," he said deferentially, not that it made any difference at this point, as Madara was Not On Speaking Terms with him anymore. "Have you ever actually _met _a woman?"

"Of course I have!" said Madara.

Everyone stared at him.

"…_really_?" asked Hashirama, pausing in the middle of a huge slice of carrot cake.

"Kaa-san used to show him off to her friends," said Izuna loyally. "He was very cute."

"There we are, then," said Uzumaki Mito, before Madara could murder his brother in epic dojutsu fashion. "By the way, Uchiha-san—if you'd done something _else_, I might have been a little more prone to…letting my guard down," she said, eyes crinkling. And then she formed a few seals and filled the hallway with at least seventy different flavors of…

…of _ramen_.

"Delicious!" she said, and Madara tried very hard not to admit this was perhaps slightly stylish of her. She got up then, and expertly smoothed a few tendrils of hair into place without looking at them. The woman had _skill_.

"It's been a pleasure, Uchiha-san," she said smartly. "If you'll excuse me, now—I have a Senju to marry. Not the one you want, luckily." She took Tobirama's arm and swept past, smiling. As she passed him, she leaned a little closer and whispered in his ear.

"There's a room no one's using behind that corridor," she said. "Everyone will be busy with the wedding."

Madara gawked.

She winked. "Good luck," she said. "Mm, and—here—"

She quickly brought up her hands and teased a few tendrils of hair into place around his face.

"Much better," she said.

Madara would not thank her. He would not debase himself. He was Uchiha Madara. _He did his own damn hair_.

"Thank you," he said.

"Sure."

And then Uzumaki Mito waved, took Hiruzen's hand, and walked away with Tobirama.

"Well, that was interesting," said Hashirama blithely. "So—Madara-san! What can I do for you?"

Madara slid a sidelong glance at a nearby window. His battle fan was in place. He looked fetchingly out of breath, as if after facing a tough opponent—which _had not just happened no it had not he would not think of it in those terms_. Most importantly, his hair looked dead sexy.

"Idiot Senju," he said loftily. "You have frosting on your mouth."

And then, before Hashirama had any idea of what was going on, he pounced.

**~X~**

_end_


End file.
